


all my friends are heathens, take it slow

by everAcclimating



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Psychological Torture, Quadrant Confusion, Quadrant Vacillation, Rebellion, Rough Sex, Sexual Violence, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Trollstuck, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everAcclimating/pseuds/everAcclimating
Summary: you're one of the leaders of the rebellion against her imperious condescension and you've captured one of your strongest enemies.what happens next? how long can you keep him and can you use him to turn the tides of the war?
Relationships: John Egbert/Dirk Strider
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	1. Dirk POV

You've always wondered why the Executioner's title has more than eight letters in it, bucking tradition when he's a servant of the empire, but when you see him up close for the first time on the battlefield, you take a look at his glowing blue eyes and realize why: he's a mutant. A different type of mutant than your leader, but a mutant nonetheless. It's not below the Empress to give a sting like that to even a servant she claims to dote over, so you're not surprised by the—

—your thought process slams to a halt when his warhammer almost slams right into your skull and you barely dodge it.

Let's rewind a bit.

You head into every battle knowing you would die for Kankri Vantas. Your ancestors had a drastic, tragic romance for the ages, but this is different, you think. At least you hope it is. There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it: you would die for him. You would certainly kill for him, because you do in every battle. You kill trolls impossibly larger than you, hulking jesters that aim to smash you into dust so they can grapple over the pieces. You kill trolls that should be your brethren, seadwellers who instead look down on you in disdain for your choices. _Hello, Guardian,_ they hiss, laughter behind the words like they're making a joke. You like your title though, because that's what you are. You're the strongest troll in the rebellion, and everyone knows it. You're the reason they're all still alive.

The Empress' pet clown showing up unexpectedly on the battlefield isn't going to change that.

He gives you a run for your money unlike any other battle you've been in, but something is off. He's feinting but in ways you don't understand because he'll swing with enough power to crush your head into jelly but then pull back just enough at the last second so that it barely grazes you instead. He's moving slower than he should, and he's just slow enough to get sliced up by your blade, purple splattering on the ground.

At first you think he's playing with you, but you think back on every report of the Executioner and all of them, every single one, says he's efficient and brutal. One hit kills and then he leaves. He doesn't gloat, he doesn't go over the top, he just gets the job done.

There's a desperation in his eyes when he gets close and you realize he's trying to use you to die. He wants you to kill him.

It makes you absolutely furious.

You're well known for being stoic and quiet on the battlefield so you don't call him on it, you just flash step behind him and jam the butt of your sword into the back of his skull as hard as you can.

You will not let the troll that's killed so many of your rebels use you to commit suicide.

You have to get out of there fast and the Executioner is huge so you give a shrill whistle and several of the rebels join you, startled and alarmed. You wordlessly instruct them to help you carry the hulking clown back, and they're hesitant but do as they're told.

Kankri knows what you're doing as soon as you arrive but you don't linger around him because you know that the clown won't be out long. You take him to an underground bunker you'd all abandoned a while back when you moved, and take him to the holding cell to chain him to the wall. You patch up his wounds while he's still out, then quickly take care of your own before you settle in the chair at the table across the room and wait. You're pretty sure where you're going to start with this, and you intend to at least get some information out of him.

He's not unconscious for long, as expected, and he recovers obscenely quickly even for a clown. When he wakes up you _think_ he looks surprised and then angry, but it's so hard to tell with the perfectly placid smile painted on his face. He's far enough away that you can't see what his eyes are doing, so you just run your tongue over needle-sharp teeth and stretch your legs out in front of you, canting your head aside just a little as he speaks.

"You let me live," he says, grating it out, and you're sure his tone is accusatory. There's a _why_ implied in it, but you don't intend to answer that.

"I did, yes," you say, slowly at first as if coming out of a long sleep: you don't talk much as a rule, and you're gearing yourself up to have to talk a lot to get anything done. "Shouldn't I have? I'd like to chat a while, if that's amenable to you." You're unsettled by how calm his paint is now that you're actually looking at it, but you press aside.

"What's your name, clown? Not your title, everyone knows that. I want your name if we're going to talk. My name is Dierrk. I help run this rebellion. You can keep calling me my title if you want, I'm not ashamed of it, but I do like first names when I'm talking to someone directly." This is wildly intimate, but you want to see how he'll answer.

"'Clown' is fine," he says, "we aren't friends, so we don't need to be on a first-name basis."

You bark a laugh. "Clown it is, then."

He pauses a moment and smiles for real through the paint, wide with teeth almost as sharp as your own. When he continues, his tone is conversational like he's talking about the weather. "So what's the plan then? Torture, I assume. Do you want to know my pain tolerance? Last time we tested, I can break all the bones in my arms without passing out, so maybe you'd like to start there." You're waiting for him to talk this out, but he keeps going. "That has the real bonus of me _maybe_ taking longer to break out and turn your stupid little fucking stronghold into a lake of blood."

He's testing you. You don't flinch.

"Legs take longer to heal, bigger bones to break and all, so maybe you want to start there? Oh, or you could just peel my skin back if you wanted! That one is _very_ popular, that one is one of her favorites. Not even I know how much of that I could take! We could find out together."

Hey, what the fuck, why are torture methods being practiced on the prized Executioner? Fucked up if true. You make a face of distaste at the descriptions of torture and shake your head. "It's very cute that you think we put you in a stronghold where we keep people, but unfortunately your lake would be violet and nothing else, because I'm the only one here."

You stand, placing your hands flat on the surface of the table and leaning forward. "Are you done? We're not like that here. If you'd like to say some more to try and intimidate me, or, I don't know, gross me out? Go ahead. I need to go get something and I may be gone a few moments, so get it out now."

"Yeah, I know what you're fuckin' like here," he spits out, then immediately continues. "Obviously I know all about what you're like. Which is why I can tell you that you are wasting your _fucking_ time. You don't have the _resources_ to do the things you'd have to do to get me to tell you anything useful, even if you _had_ the guts. You might as well cut to the chase and kill me."

You smile, all needles, and shrug. "Oh, it's not about guts. Or resources, really, I'm very resourceful! I'm sure we could come up with something, you and I. But it's not about that. Maybe you'll never understand what it _is_ about. In any case, I'm not going to kill you."

You pause for dramatic effect, and go on. "Hang on tight, I'll be right back."

It's a personal joke, because of course he's going to be there when you get back. You get a small tub of soapy water, some cleansing oil, and a couple cloths, then come back and set everything neatly on the table. "Are you going to hold still if I come closer or are you going to try to bite me?"

He snorts. "Of course I'm going to bite you, idiot."

"I suppose that's fair," you offer, "oh well. Sue me for making conversation." You wet one of the cloths with the oil and head over to him, gripping his hair for practical reasons, then start scrubbing at his face. He immediately starts squirming but you're strong for your size and all he manages to do is make more of a mess of himself and smear the greasepaint more.

At one point he almost gets a bite in on your hand before closing his mouth to keep the greasepaint and oil out of it, and you tap his nose in reprimand as one would reprimanding a naughty barkbeast. Instead he makes a low angry noise in the back of his throat like a displeased purrbeast, but you refrain from smiling.

You clean him with the soap and water too, and make sure he's patted dry before you take a step back.

Under the paint... Holy shit.

He's cute. He's very cute, with wide expressive eyes that are easier to see now, no distracting makeup around them. He's flushed dark purple and you can't tell if it's anger or embarrassment or both, but knowing you can see him just seems to make him all the more angry. He also looks a little violated, as if you'd stripped him naked instead of just removing his dumb clown paint.

"Wow, great." He spits it out, "now I'm stripped of all my murder clown powers. You sure defeated me. Good job." He's so much less intimidating now; he just looks petulant.

You know you just pulled a power play on him, but he'd been so adamant before you hadn't expected him to look so pitiable underneath. In a platonic way, of course: you're not inappropriate in any way. "Is that what you think I'm after? Stripping you of power? Perhaps objectifying you in some way?" You sit back down at the table, watching him from a safe distance. "Sounds a little like projecting to me. I just wanted to become more closely acquainted with the troll I'll be spending so much time with from now on. Besides, we don't have any greasepaint here to touch you up, and I'm not inclined toward having prisoners stew in unsanitary conditions. You'll just have to learn how to deal with being fresh faced."

This just enrages him, which is what you expected. "Fuck you. Fuck your smug-ass condescending shitty attitude. I don't have any information and I wouldn't tell you if I did. Stop wasting all of our time and just kill me. What's _wrong_ with you? Do you _want_ me to escape?"

You cross your arms over your chest, unmoved, and cant your head again. Your smile is wry. "Surely you didn't expect anything other than smug and condescending from a seadweller? It's what fish are fucking good at, Clown, as you should well know."

His insistence on you killing him is getting annoying, and it's just confirming what you suspected. "It seems very silly that you wouldn't _have_ any information, doesn't it? But at the same time, you could have just said the part about not telling me and it would have sufficed. We're getting to know each other after all!"

"Then pretend I didn't say that part." He just looks more and more upset. "Either way it's the same, I've got nothing for you and every _second_ that you sit here talking at me is a second you'll regret once I'm out of here."

You sigh, crossing your legs lazily. "You're aware that's not how things work? We don't just pretend you didn't say something because you regret saying it." You shift again, resting your elbows on your knees and leaning forward to watch him. "You're giving me conflicting messages here. Do you want to die or do you want to kill us? What drives you so recklessly to the brink, Clown?"

He pauses, and you can tell he's trying to find a way to evade your question. It feels like a small victory. "I woke up and saw you and thought no, nope, none of _that_ bullshit, destroy me immediately."

He's very bad at lying, so he's being rude to try and distract you.

It's interesting, to say the least, and you bark out a rough, unused laugh, ragged and low. "That's a new one for me, I'll admit. Though that leads me to my next question." You roll your shoulders a bit, wincing at the loud crackling they make. "Since you're saying you decided once you woke up. Why did you lose, then. I know I'm not stronger than the entire armies you've decimated. Or are you getting soft? It's not like you're in your old age and getting weaker. Does your wish for destruction run deeper than that?"

He even _sounds_ petulant now. "Maybe you're just better at fighting than I am. Don't rub it in. I'm very embarrassed by it."

You roll your eyes, but it's hidden by your dark glasses. "Don't be fucking absurd, I'm not stupid. That's not the case and we both know it. I'm fast, but I'm not stronger than you. My friends don't know that, but we both do."

He glowers at you for a long moment then clicks his tongue against the inside of his cheek and sets his jaw stubbornly. There's clearly a reason, but he's not up to sharing it. "Fine, then it was an off night for me. Once in a lifetime opportunity to get rid of that nasty clown forever, which you are wasting, like a fucking idiot."

This just draws a sigh out of you. "Are you trying on excuses to see which might stick? Because if so, you're very bad at this. It's fine if you don't spill the real reason yet, but it's very suspicious at the moment."

He doesn't even move, just slams into a breathless tirade, staring at you angrily. "Are you just going to keep telling me 'no' until I make something up that fits with what you already decided? Fine, I decided at the start of this evening that if I got any taller I wouldn't be cute anymore so I thought I'd let you kill me. Or I had just the worst argument earlier and my feelings were _so_ hurt I couldn't go on anymore, I was so heartbroken I fell right on your sword. Maybe I don't _want_ to die, it's just better than the alternative of—" He pauses here, just a millisecond, and it's the first time he takes a breath.

"—being here listening to you. Maybe it was a genuine fluke and you're reading way too much into it and obviously you're going to kill me, you don't really have a choice, and I'm _already_ bored of this and want to just cut right to the good part."

His shouting over, he slumps.

You catch that pause and latch on to it, lips pressing in a thin line. You were right all along, and now you're angry about it again. It doesn't show in your face, but you're furious. "So dying is the good part. Got it. Anyway, I have no intentions of killing you basically ever, so I'm afraid you're going to have to spend time with me a while longer. It won't matter if you call me stupid for refusing, because my mind is made up. That simply isn't how we do things."

You stand, putting the chair back where it belongs next to the table. "I think we're done for tonight. At least for now."

Even chained to the wall in a cell without face paint, he stands. His hands are shaking, then all of him is shaking, and it's genuinely a bit frightening because you're not entirely sure the chains can actually hold him. You think he can see the release of death slipping through his fingers.

"How— How _dare_ you? How dare you look at me and fucking tell me you aren't going to kill me like you have a fucking _choice_ in the matter! I'm _dangerous_. I'm your _enemy_." You thought his tirade was over, but he's just picking up steam again. "I'm the weapon she uses to cut your entire army to pieces and you just look at me and say no? You can't—you _can't_ say no!"

You just watch him, cataloging everything.

"Why the fuck do you just get to say no? Like there's some _different option_? Like there's ever any different _fucking_ option? _Fuck_ you! _Fuck_ your holier-than-thou pretentious made up fake _bullshit_!"

Wow. You knew clowns swore a lot, but this is wild.

With every goddamn word he says though, another thread unfurls in your mind and you can see all the more clearly. You understand now his reasoning and his ache and his desire. You don't let on just like you didn't let on your anger. You've always been able to see through people, but it's never been as clear as this. You run your tongue over your teeth again and tilt your head like a curious dog before continuing. "You're only her weapon, acting only on her orders and never for yourself? Don't you have any fun doing your work? I've met lesser clowns and they've all been so happy to gloat about their work. Or, as you say, is there never any _option_? It sounds to me there may be a choice to make on my part after all. Thank you, Clown, you've given me a lot to think about tonight."

You know that has to be infuriating.

You're right, of course, because he just screams wordlessly. He's too angry, shaking too hard to even cuss you out anymore. He screams until he collapses in an exhausted, furious, emotional heap. You wait until he's done. You're well aware that you've "won" this interrogation, but it doesn't feel good.

You head to a corner to grab some blankets and pass them through the bars, piling them near the edge. "Here. Try not to off yourself with them somehow in your existential depression. I'll be in to talk to you tomorrow night. Goodnight, clown."

You're well aware that most clowns are perfectly capable of weaponizing even a blanket, but as you walk out the door you're fairly certain this one won't.


	2. John POV

He comes to see you the next night. Or, well, what you assume is the next night. There's no way to tell in here, and the time drags on and on and on without the landmarks of the passage. He has two trays with him and you stare at him like he's grown another head, because there's got to be a catch. Instead he just sets it down in front of you and goes to set the other one on the table and you switch to staring at the tray suspiciously instead.

"Did you get some rest?" He queries, and you roll your eyes.

"No. I stayed awake the whole time specifically to spite you." You say it without heat because you're only arguing to argue, and also to lie: you did sleep. In fact, you're still sitting in the pile of blankets you made after he left them with you.

This is so weird. This isn't imprisonment. He just starts eating like it's perfectly normal, like you're two friends sharing some time together, and it makes your stomach roil uncomfortably.

"I'd be impressed, if so," he begins, pausing a moment as though he's considering. "She's looking for you," he adds, and you freeze.

Your face automatically twists into a smile: it's the default placeholder expression for when you don't know what the fuck else to do with it. It's like the facepaint in micro. The facepaint you hid all your worries behind. The facepaint he wiped off of you last night.

You're fucking terrified of what he's just told you. You didn't plan for the Empress' reaction to your obviously and deliberately planned fucking up of her orders, because you expected to be dead by now so you wouldn't have to worry about it. "Well," you start slowly, "of course she is. Of course she'd hate that someone took her thing. Are you surprised?" Your blood is running even colder than usual through your veins, and you don't know what to do.

He looks at you like he's seeing right through you and you almost hate that more. Like he knows exactly what you're doing. You definitely hate that part more. "Oh, I'm not surprised at all." He sounds so sure of himself and it's grating on your nerves through the deep angst and ennui hole you're in, a metaphorical match to the literal hole in the ground you're in. "I just thought I'd tell you that she's mobilized to find you. Maybe the option to kill you or not isn't valid at all, because now that the first night's over, I won't get a chance." His voice is so mild and even and it's making the klaxons in your brain go off even louder.

You have the insane impulse to just fling yourself on the floor and literally beg for death before she can find you, before she makes you kill anyone else, you want to cry and scream for help to please, please, _please_ , don't let her find you, you can't go back, you—

You realize abruptly that you've been frozen for a long while and you force your face out of the panic smile, taking a deep breath and putting your angry boy pants back on.

"What do you mean you won't get the chance? You have the chance right now. I'm entirely at your mercy and everything, I'll stand really still if you want, I'll—" You cut yourself off before you can continue because you're embarrassing yourself with your desperation. You know he sees through you already, but this is over the top.

His eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head. "I suppose I should have been more clear. I was talking about a third option, in which you're given a choice. You've never been given that, have you? A real choice to make."

Just the idea of making decisions is making your stomach turn. "I'm still not going to kill you, clown. I can't grant you that respite. But I think I wanted more time with you than I'm going to get, nonetheless."

What the fuck does that mean. You stare at him and you know your face is telegraphing your fear and apprehension. You can't hide it without your paint. Your real face is your downfall.

"I don't... Understand? I don't get what you're saying." That's all you can muster.

He tilts his head. "You think your only options are to die or go back to a life you hate." Your pulse quickens. "Those aren't the only options. You're missing a glaring one right in front of you." He leans forward and there's an intensity that almost makes you recoil—his violet eyes are the most intense part of him and you see them when his glasses slip down his nose. He's staring directly at you, unblinking.

He takes a breath: you're sure it's for dramatic effect. "Fucking tell her no."

You start to laugh nervously and you sound shrill and panicked to your own ears. No one tells the Empress no. "Y—"

But you pause. That's not true, is it. These trolls and all the trolls you've been _indiscriminately murdering_ because you're a _monster_ and your thought process can't move past that so you shut down briefly, like a husktop bluescreen.

"It's not that simple! Don't be stupid. Tell her no and THEN what?"

He doesn't seem surprised by his reaction, which makes you mad, but you don't call him on it. He takes a moment to speak, but when he does his voice is much more even than yours. "Well. You certainly can't tell her to fuck off and then head out on your own, so that's out. She'd find you, naturally. But you don't have to be alone."

You can feel the terrified laughter bubbling up inside you again but you barely manage to keep a lid on it. He continues in the interim. "You don't have to be alone and you don't have to be chained up down here like a wild barkbeast. Are you following me, clown?"

" _Johann_ ," you spit automatically, and he looks surprised that you have a name at all. "And that sounds..." Nice. "Unrealistic. I'm a monster. I'm a murderer. I'm personally responsible for every major defeat you've suffered since I was old enough to fight. I'm—" You try to calm down, but your mind is buzzing hard. "You have no way of knowing I wouldn't turn on you the second you let me out."

He shakes his head at length, and you wait to see what kind of hoofbeast shit he's going to say now. You're not disappointed. "You never played games. You didn't make a spectacle of it. You didn't act, to be frank, like a _clown_ would, Johann. You don't like killing, do you? That's why you hate your orders so much that you'd rather die than go back. Every troll I lost to you was killed quickly, painlessly, and with care."

He's very blunt, isn't he. "You're a victim of being forced into behavior you can't stand. It's no more your fault than that of a wave crashing on the beach, but now you have a choice."

The despondent rage in you is building again and you basically spit out your next words in another breathless tantrum. "Maybe that's my game. Maybe I go for quantity over quality, and it's inefficient to take my sweet sweet time with every single person I take out. Maybe I keep all that shit private and you never see the ones I play with because I keep them all to myself." You're making yourself sick as you speak, but you keep going. "Maybe the way I fight is because she told me to fight that way, did you ever consider that? Maybe I'm way way worse than you made up in your head."

You're reaching a crescendo now and you can't stop it from tumbling out. "Maybe, just _maybe_ , I'm not a fucking victim of any damn thing and I'm just a monster, the worst one to exist since the Enforcer got her neck trimmed!"

He stares at you and shrugs. He fucking shrugs. "A compelling argument, but I don't believe you. That's fine though, this can be the game we play instead if you like." When he cants his head he looks a little sad and you think he platonically pities you, which you hate most of all.

"Are we comparing ourselves to our forebears, then? I don't believe that either. You're not like the Enforcer at all, and I think you'll find I'm not much like the Apostate, either. But that's alright. We can branch off from our ancestors."

"You have no idea what I'm like. You don't know me." You're so upset you can barely speak.

He pauses. "I'm getting an idea. You should eat. I have to go work on a few things soon and I'd like to know you've eaten. I'll come back later, naturally, but I'm hoping you're not on an ill-advised hunger strike."

"I'll eat if I feel like eating." You scowl, hating that he called you out on your plan so quickly. "Don't tell me what do do."

His glasses are back in place, but you think he just rolled his eyes. His voice is mild and even, though. "It's only a suggestion, I'm not telling you what to do. You don't have to eat and I won't force you, but I'm going to continue giving you the option."

You're so incensed that you throw a spoon at him. You throw a spoon and then you get so fucking mad at yourself because he's going to notice you didn't throw the knife or fork, you threw the thing least likely to hurt him, and he's going to call you on it. He's going to call you on it and he knows you're not inclined toward violence and he's going to know every bit of you and you almost have a panic attack because of it.

At the last moment you steel yourself. "You're wasting your time trying to mess with me and it won't work. I hate you, I hate everything you stand for, I hate every word out of your idiot mouth."

He looks almost disappointed before he shrugs. Then he gets up and starts clearing up his own tray. He takes your fork and knife but leaves the food and spoon, so he correctly guessed you would have done something drastic if he left them behind. "That's alright. You can hate me. I think you'll come around eventually."

He's so sure of himself. How? "Maybe not to me, I'm pretty insufferable, but to the choice I'm giving you. It's not like there aren't plenty of rebels already that don't like me."

His voice takes on a sharp and bright tone, and you think probably a lot of the lowbloods hate him for being a highblood, and who could blame them after highbloods oppressed them for so long? Still are? Oh, you're sounding like a sympathizer already. You scowl again. Can't catch me, emotions.

You realize he's still talking. "I'll be back around next mealtime."

It makes you so angry that you just growl, you fucking growl at him like a cornered animal because how dare he keep being nice to you. How dare he try to see you as anything but a killer. There's nothing there. "You're going to run out of patience eventually."

"Am I?" He's even and calm again, and even smiles a little. "I've got plenty of patience. I'll see you later, Johann."

It kind of feels nice to have someone use your name like you're an actual person. It's embarrassing but true, and you're going to dwell on it for hours.

You stare at his back as he leaves and say nothing.


End file.
